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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 
















ROOKIE 


HIS EARS DROOPING, MOURNFUL-EYED, AND SOPPING WET 







































ROOK/£ 


BY ELISHA ELAGG, JR. 

u 

PICTURES BY JAMES 
MONTGOMERY FLAGG 



ALBERT WHITMAN & CO. 

CHICAGO 

1940 




Copyright, 1940, by 
Albert Whitman & Company 


^0 


Printed in the U.S.A. 




3 


MR -8 mo 

138375 


ROOKIE 


u 

s / E was left one day by Uncle Ed, 
who asked us to take care of him until he 
was ready to go North for the summer. I 
asked what name he answered to and 
Uncle Ed said, “He doesn’t, but I call 
him Rookie, short for Stupid.” 

[ 5 ) 


ROOKIE 


Well, I thought at the time, that doesn’t 
sound so entertaining, but maybe he’s be¬ 
ing slandered. So I looked down upon 
what had been wished on us with an im¬ 
partial eye and found Rookie looking up 
at me with a couple of very partial eyes, 
head cocked on one side and ears raised 
as though he smelled a rat, which was a 
doubtful compliment to my presence. 

I went over and sat down, leaving 
Rookie sitting like a paper weight in the 
middle of the carpet. 

To test Uncle Ed’s possible libel, I 
called out, “Rookie! Oh, Rookie! Come 
over here to your new papa, you wooden¬ 
legged cross between a Walrus and a 
Bronx cockroach.” You will of course 
recognize the fact that I was addressing a 
[ 6 ] 


ROOKIE 


wire-haired terrier and a pup at that, oth¬ 
erwise I wouldn’t have been so facetious! 

Rookie looked like any other young 
thoroughbred of the species and anything 
but stupid. He had that appealing gro- 
tesquerie about him which always gave 
me a friendly feeling of risibility when¬ 
ever or wherever I saw the breed. This 
little clown had the color and markings 
of an unevenly cooked pancake—sort of 
cream-brown black and gray. A bath 
later on showed him to be just white and 
tan, to my surprise. I had forgotten at 
the moment that his owner was an artist, 
and that artists seldom wash little dogs, 
nor use nail files or combs except at fu¬ 
nerals, weddings or under ether. 

To get back to Rookie, not that either 

C7l 


ROOKIE 


of us had moved, I found that the only 
result of my call was an effort on his part 
to take some of the dust out of the carpet 
with his tail. So I went over, picked him 
up, wriggle and all, and returning to my 
chair parked him in my lap and devoted 
about twenty minutes to getting ac¬ 
quainted. 

At first he insinuated that I needed a 
shave by trying to lather my face with his 
tongue. I finally distracted him from that 
pastime by giving him his own tail to bite, 
and while he was thus occupied I had 
time to tell him a few puppy love stories 
and a couple of dog-eared fairy tales such 
as The Big Bad Wolf, Ferdinand the Bull 
and Rip Van Winkle. The latter put him 
to sleep. 


m 



HE INSINUATED THAT I NEEDED A SHAVE 
























ROOKIE 


By the end of the week we were great 
friends and I had discovered that he was 
of that desirable type known far and wide, 
mostly far, as the one-man dog. He sim¬ 
ply would have nothing to do with any¬ 
body but me, outside of a few select old 
friends whom he had never seen before, 
such as the Ice Man, the Milk Man, the 
Gas Man, the Electrician, the Plumber, 
the Carpenter, the Gardener, the Garbage 
Collector, **** 4 stars for the Garbage 
Man, the Installment Man, and the— 
well, no. I must omit the Landlord from 
the bounding enthusiasm of his limited 
circle. The Landlord was old-fashioned 
and carried a package of asafoetida in his 
pocket for rheumatism. 

Saturday night arrived, and as there 

In] 


ROOKIE 


was nothing to hinder, I thought I would 
insist on making the new member of the 
family conform to the rules by taking a 
bath. Of course, I was ridiculous, think¬ 
ing I could make him take a bath. I found 
it a whale of a job to give him one. The 
occasional baths administered in his short 
past must have been attempted on Sat¬ 
urdays also, his attitude showing a 
pre-knowledge of coming events. I ap¬ 
proached him with nonchalance and said, 
“Come along, young feller, you’ll need 
your umbrella,” using the indirect method 
of speech supposed to be popular with 
babies who, nine times out of ten, if they 
could speak their minds would say, “My 
dear parent, your obscure innuendoes are 
a lot of bologny.” 


[12] 


HAVING DISLODGED HIM WITH MY CANE 












ROOKIE 


Rookie back-pedaled so fast under the 
sofa that he bumped his head in passing 
the danger zone. The yelp of indignation 
he gave, when translated, meant “Ouch! 
You big slob!” Having dislodged him 
with my cane, Joan made a grab for him, 
but all she got was “a hair of the tail of the 
dog who didn’t bite her,” and he started 
away from there. 

The trail led into the dining room, then 
around the table, out into the hall, up the 
stairs, in and out of two bedrooms, 
through a connecting bath, finally ending 
in the garret, where, it being dark, I 
caught him by his sniff—not his scruff— 
the dust betrayed him. 

We took the struggling bundle of con¬ 
scientious objection down to the cellar 

[is 3 


ROOKIE 


and through our combined efforts I man¬ 
aged to hold him in a big agate basin of 
warm water while Joan soaped and 
scrubbed until his fleece was white as 
snow. After a cold shower and a brisk 
rub with a warm turkish towel, we carried 
our reconditioned model upstairs to the 
living room, where I placed him before 
the glowing, crackling logs of the fire¬ 
place to remove all dampness before his 
bedtime. 

A jumping spark from one of the logs 
spoiled my good intentions, however, for 
Rookie, with a startled “Woof!” proceed¬ 
ed to imitate a Chinese pinwheel, three 
bunches of firecrackers and a couple of 
skyrockets. In other words, he went off 
in all directions at once. Round and round 
[16] 


HE WENT OFF IN ALL 













































ROOKIE 


the living room he raced, sliding first on 
one ear, then sliding on the other, as the 
rugs one by one slid from under him on 
the polished floor. The electricity in his 
hair, his bath and towel rubbing, had 
given him such a feeling of pride that he 
imagined himself a member of the Palm 
Beach Kennel Club running ahead of the 
mechanical rabbit. 

On about the fifth or sixth lap he de¬ 
cided to stop in full career, so, using his 
hindquarters as a brake, he skidded in a 
sitting position to the living room door. 
I’ll never know whether this direction was 
intentional or not. Anyway, it suited him 
fine. Getting drunkenly to his feet, he 
dashed madly on through the door and up 
the stairs, ambitiously trying to take two 

C 19] 


ROOKIE 

at a time; with the result that he traveled 
four flights in one and used up so much 
energy he had to call a halt on the top 
landing. Here, tongue out and bellows 
going, he looked down on us bewildered- 
ly as though saying, “Now who the devil 
started all this?” 

We had put aside the dressing room of 
the downstairs bath as Rookie’s sleeping 
quarters. Here he had his basket, blanket 
and pan of water, solid comfort for any 
pup, but almost standard equipment for 
many thousand humans today. 

I had in three weeks’ time trained 
Rookie to get up from wherever he hap¬ 
pened to be at my call: “Come on. Bed¬ 
time!” Then he would make for the 
kitchen door to prance, hop and wriggle, 
[ 20 ] 



“now who the devil started all this?” 












ROOKIE 


demonstrating he was prepared for his 
nightly run round the back yard enclo¬ 
sure with all it was supposed to include. 
It took three more weeks to make him stop 
kidding me. Upon his return to the 
kitchen, habit had taught him to make for 
the Hoover cabinet that contained his 
bone-shaped puppy biscuits where, having 
received one, he would dutifully carry it 
off to his sleeping basket and call it a 
day—sometimes. 

He became fond of us. At any rate, we 
were allotted our just share of his uni¬ 
versal and enthusiastic affection. We had 
a hard time keeping him intact for his real 
master’s return, for Rookie was as obsti¬ 
nate as a mule in his efforts to run away. 
The little four-legged hitchhiker in fur 

in ] 


ROOKIE 


pants! I don’t believe he used his thumb, 
though maybe he did use his tail. Or per¬ 
haps he winked. However, he was 
brought home to us three times in an 
automobile, and he always managed an 
expensive model. He never told me the 
secret. In two of the instances, friends of 
ours recognized him and obliged. The 
third instance, his identification tag and 
a stranger’s honest good nature returned 
him from three miles away where he was 
headed for Boston and way stations. 

No matter how careful I was of the 
chicken wire that guarded the back-yard 
enclosure, Rookie would manage to find 
an opening between the stakes I had 
driven down and dig his way out. Then on 
my return from the city I would have to 
[24] 


ROOKIE 


hop into my car and tour the town and bay 
shore. I usually found him wherever 
there were children and I doubt if they 
enjoyed him as much as he enjoyed them. 

The mischievous little blighter thought 
it more fun to play at them rather than 
with them. Toss a ball to him and he’d 
never bring it back, but run off and drop 
it in the most awkward place he could 
find. If he didn’t do that, he would hold 
on to it with the grip of a bulldog and 
only give it up if he wanted to yawn or 
thought of something else. He particu¬ 
larly enjoyed grabbing some kid’s tin pail 
and banging it among the rocks until he 
got hysterical over his own noise. Then 
he’d leave it there and trot back looking 
for more ammunition. 

C25] 


ROOKIE 


I decided to try to improve his manners 
by teaching him to fetch and carry. There¬ 
by he might learn to bring little girls 
their pails instead of villainously abscond¬ 
ing. When down at the beach any time 
on our numerous outings I would pick up 
sticks and offer him one to bite on and get 
interested in, then throwing it, say to him, 
“Go fetch it.” 

The first one I threw he watched with¬ 
out budging, and the second without 
budging, and the third no budge. Three 
splendid poses of a dog not budging. I’ll 
give him credit though for a little twitch¬ 
ing. It appeared first in his right ear and 
then in his left; and once, in his tail. I 
was puzzled at first by his utter indiffer¬ 
ence to this time-honored pastime, but I 
[26} 


JAMIES- lllOt(l&lfi£& 


HE PARTICULARLY ENJOYED BANGING IT AMONG THE ROCKS 







ROOKIE 


finally realized it wasn’t stupidity but 
“rugged individualism” which he had 
contracted in the Hoover cabinet in the 
kitchen. I think he had it all worked out 
to his own satisfaction, my conjectures to 
the contrary notwithstanding. 

Said he to himself, “Why should I get 
all hot and bothered chasing his old 
sticks? ’Tis not what he wants at all, at 
all. Sure an’ he’s after showing me how 
fine he can throw. So I’ll be cocking me 
head to the right at a short throw, to the 
left for a bounce, and wag me broth of a 
tail if he hits the water.” Rookie only talks 
that way when he’s fed on Irish stew. 

Taking it by and large, I decided that 
fetch and carry meant to him that if I 
would fetch the sticks and throw them, 

[29] 


ROOKIE 


he would carry on as the real audience. 

Knowing that running away was an 
ineradicable part of his make-up and not 
an insult to our hospitality, we decided for 
his health’s sake to let him have the per¬ 
fect freedom of the back lot, except for 
twenty-five feet of rope tied with one end 
to a tree and the other to his harness. 
Until he got used to this restriction he 
had an acrobatic time of it and automat¬ 
ically became eligible for a circus life— 
he did so many back flops and pinwheels 
when the rope brought him up short. 

By simple arithmetic the tree he was 
tied to was one foot in diameter. It took 
about eight trips round to get him un¬ 
wound. So, not having any reverse gears 
in his make-up, he required a personally 
l 3 °] 



HE AUTOMATICALLY BECAME ELIGIBLE FOR A CIRCUS LIFE 






















ROOKIE 

conducted tour back to freedom. How¬ 
ever, I preferred the labor to searching 
the neighborhood. 

Before restricting him with a play rope 
we had thought to exercise him before 
dinner by placing ourselves across the 
lot from each other and calling him back 
and forth between us, one to hold him, the 
other to call. The very first trip to bat was 
a single. Joan released him and he ran 
delightedly for my outstretched arms, or 
so I thought. But when he reached me 
he dashed still more delightedly between 
my legs, hitting on all six. We found him 
about nine o’clock that night. 

As the swarming season for ants had 
arrived that spring as usual, I put out 
those little glass pots with the green ant 
[ 33 ] 


ROOKIE 


poison that was generally used in our 
neighborhood as a preventive. 

Making allowance for Rookie’s in¬ 
quisitiveness, I took the precaution of 
hiding the pots behind stones in the flower 
beds at the base of the house. Then I 
thought no more of it until one morning 
about 3 a. m., when Rookie set up a howl¬ 
ing that would have wakened the dead. 
So being only half dead, I went down¬ 
stairs, turned on the light in his dressing 
room and found him with his nose stuck 
in a corner as though he were looking for 
a hole to pull in after him. 

I called him. Turning his head slowly, 
he looked up at me with the most ashamed 
and woebegone expression I’ve ever seen 
outside of a child at a party trying to walk 
C 34 d 


ROOKIE 

home backwards with nonchalance. Was 
he a sick pup? I ask you. He had con¬ 
sumed the entire contents of one of the 
ant poison jars. I took him over to the 
vet’s as soon as I knew he’d be up, and 
told him what had happened. He gave 
him a thorough going over, handed him 
back with some pink pills and instruc¬ 
tions; and told me he would be fit as a 
fiddle in a couple of days, at which I was 
greatly relieved. Rookie wobbled around 
a bit weak in the knees for a day or so, 
but by the end of the week he was as spry 
as a cricket and ready for any new kind 
of poison he could dig up, experience 
having taught him self-importance instead 
of self-protection. 

Evidently somewhere in the dim, dark 
[35l 


ROOKIE 


past of the Neolithic, or shall we say Dog- 
dolyte Era, little dogs traveled round in 
bands instead of packs. I think this must 
be so because Rookie showed the makings 
of a good band leader. Whenever we 
turned on the phonograph he would jump 
up on the lounge and, standing with his 
forepaws on the back rest, peep over at 
the cabinet with a proprietary air. One 
assumed he had leader proclivities by his 
evident keenness in trying to detect a sour 
note. With ears cocked forward he would 
turn his head first to the right and then to 
the left as if he were afraid of missing a 
beat. 

I had become so used to his wagging 
tail that at first I didn’t notice it particu¬ 
larly when the music was on, being en- 
C36] 



A BIT WEAK IN THE KNEES FOR A DAY OR SO 






















ROOKIE 


tertained enough by the antics of his less 
intelligent end; however, his tail really 
drew my attention because it was wag¬ 
ging up and down instead of from side to 
side, which is the accepted vogue in the 
best dog circles. Yes, sir! believe it or 
not, his tail went up and down, up and 
down, then changed to right and left, like 
a leader’s baton except that up to now I 
haven’t seen a baton with whiskers on it. 

With any reasonable tempo Rookie 
never missed a beat, but I will say that 
most any of Paul Whiteman’s records had 
the dog licked. We seldom could play 
more than a couple of records at one ses¬ 
sion. The strain was too much for our 
sides, coupled with our fear of his losing 
his tail. 


[39] 


ROOKIE 


Sunday was a red-letter day for Rookie. 
He knew he had to get dolled up in his 
new harness and bright green sweater. 
He did so much protesting about this 
dressing up that I put him down for a 
Protestant, which was safe enough—his 
tastes were not Catholic, not a bit. 

The Sunday before Uncle Ed was due 
to call for him, we had him all ready for 
his church parade. But unfortunately 
some friends called for us while we were 
upstairs and coming in to wait, left the 
front door open! Rookie, new harness, 
green sweater, and lots of staying power 
—meaning power to stay away—disap¬ 
peared. This time a tour of the town and 
our neighbors produced only disappoint¬ 
ment. On the second day I put an ad in 
C 4° ] 


%2L// /Ss,sSs 

J-Avf' 


HIS TAIL WENT UP AND DOWN, UP AND DOWN 
























ROOKIE 


the paper, “Come home and all will be 
forgiven.” Maybe I should have added, 
“Wire,” he being a wire-haired terrier. 
Anyhow, it wouldn’t have mattered, as I 
forgot he couldn’t read. 

However, some kind old dog, probably 
a Mastiff of Languages, must have told 
him about the ad, because on the fourth 
day Rookie came home. He stood at the 
bottom gate of the garden, his tail between 
his legs, his ears drooping, mournful-eyed 
and sopping wet, no harness, no sweater, 
no identification tag, nothing but an over¬ 
moist bundle of woe, depression, and 
misery. 

We had been so panic-stricken at the 
thought of facing Uncle Ed without our 
sacred charge that not a vestige of repri- 
[43 } 


ROOKIE 


mand was in our heads at the sight of that 
truant pup, but he didn’t know that. It 
took us several days to get him out from 
under chairs and beds and remove the 
slink and shrink both morally and physi¬ 
cally. Whoever had tried to detain him 
permanently had evidently misused him 
—some two-legged animal like an ex¬ 
prohibition officer, probably. 

I was always fond of my Uncle Ed, but 
when he came that last Sunday and took 
away our affectionate little bundle of stu¬ 
pidity, I almost disliked him. Rookie re¬ 
lieved the tension of parting by giving us 
a last good, hearty laugh. Uncle Ed to this 
day doesn’t know that what caused the 
merriment was his own remark when 
Rookie met him with wriggles of ecstasy, 
U4] 


ROOKIE 


yelps of delight and oodles of attempted 
kisses, “Now there’s a one-man dog for 
you!” I wasn’t mean enough to say, “Oh, 
yeah? You mean one man at a time, don’t 
you?” 

Rookie’s departure was only physical, 
as his busy little ghost, through the me¬ 
dium of our affectionate memories, pa¬ 
raded the house and grounds for many 
weeks doing all the unexpected things we 
had come to expect. 

What I missed most of all was having 
him start my day for me. If Rookie woke 
up at 5:30, 6:30 or 7:301/2, then I could 
bet my last buffalo nickel that Uncle Ed’s 
nephew woke up at 5:30J/2, 6:30J/2, or 
7:31, as it only took thirty seconds flat 
for him to make my bedside from his 
C45l 


ROOKIE 


downstairs basket. He always poked his 
cold little snoot into whatever hand I had 
exposed and gave one snuff. If I grabbed 
hold of his muzzle and gave it a shake, 
then he knew all was well and another day 
of ribaldry had started. And I mean start¬ 
ed, because as a rule with one leap from 
the floor he would land with all fours 
right in the middle of my stomach and 
from there on it was no holds barred and 
the Queensberry Rules out the window. 

He was rough and tough and terribly 
ferocious to all appearances. But not once 
did he ever “sink his teeth” in this morn¬ 
ing ritual or at any other time. After 
about five strenuous minutes, when we 
were both thoroughly awakened, he 
would call off the play. Then he would 
C46] 


ROOKIE 


make me go downstairs, not with him, but 
jolly well after him, to retrieve some inti¬ 
mate piece of Joan’s such as a stocking, 
slipper, or a panty waist that he would 
grab on his way out. A very unrefined 
custom, but quite effective, as once down¬ 
stairs, I took in the paper and milk and 
in their place put out the pup, a fair ex¬ 
change all around. 

Perish the thought that thus was ended 
all contact with the clown for the morn¬ 
ing, like sending the kids to school. No 
indeed, to say nothing of certainly not. 
Fifteen minutes was a high average for 
him to rediscover the mysteries of his 
fenced-in domain, including a mad race 
round the yard mixed up with tail chas¬ 
ing, a few pauses to nibble at imaginary 
[ 47 ] 


ROOKIE 


fleas and some very energetic digging at 
some spot where he didn’t bury his last 
bone. By this time, having covered his 
beat, he would start taking in more terri¬ 
tory by barking at every early riser he 
could see who so much as dared open a 
window, raise a shade, or open a door. 

Impertinence such as that would be 
resented in the cities, but out in the coun¬ 
try or suburbs we are used to barking 
dogs, crowing roosters and children’s 
voices, and so pay them no heed. 

I think Rookie was disappointed that 
someone didn’t shy a bottle at him or roar 
invectives. Being a rebel, he liked an au¬ 
dience, hostile or friendly. Be that as it 
may, his barking invariably ended in a 
song that needed no moon for encourage- 
C48] 


ROOKIE 


ment. I never heard a dog with a musical 
scale such as Rookie’s and I never want 
to either. 

It wasn’t funny—it was gosh awful— 
and he knew it got results if he wanted to 
come in. Many times he would turn 
round and want to go right out again just 
to prove he had a good racket and liked 
to see it work. 

About a week after Uncle Ed’s arrival 
at his summer home up near Portland, 
Maine, I received a letter from him, and 
as it is mostly about Rookie I will be giv¬ 
ing no family secrets away by reproduc¬ 
ing it in full. Thus I can indicate both an 
ending and a beginning—the ending of 
my contact with a little happy hooligan 
and the beginning of a wee dog’s paradise. 

[ 49 ] 


ROOKIE 


Candle Isle, Me. 
July 10. 

My dear Nephew, 

Quoting from a song of the Gay Nine¬ 
ties, “You are more to be pitied than cen¬ 
sured,” if Rookie’s behavior is a reaction 
to his recent environment. If such is the 
case I am moved for the first time to as¬ 
sume the avuncular role and suggest you 
put your house in order, so to speak, and 
adopt a less riotous method of living. 

When I left Rookie with you, I turned 
over to your care what I thought was a 
little gentleman. I expected at least to 
have him hold that status, to say nothing 
of a sneaking hope that some improve¬ 
ments could be looked for upon his return 
[50] 


ROOKIE 


to my own refined but artistic atmosphere. 
But alas! What do I find, I ask you? No, 
I don’t ask you, because you know damn 
well what I found—a swashbuckling, 
little half billy goat with the mind of a 
mischievous ring-tailed monkey. And I 
don’t thank you for the weeks I see ahead 
of me trying to eradicate your corrupting 
influence. 

On my return I found your aunt had 
acquired something which she explained 
was to be a companion for Rookie. But 
up to the present writing I can’t agree 
with her classification. From the very 
start of his acquaintanceship with Clarice 
he has made her a target for his uncouth 
jokes and plays at her instead of with her 
as though she were a sawdust doll to be 
[5i I 


ROOKIE 

tossed aside at boredom’s mere whim. 

I can’t say I blame him, as Clarice is 
quite out of his class. She is a fat little 
white poodle, too young as yet to have 
full control of her chassis, so that she 
teeters badly on the curves and her vest 
buttons slow her down on the straight¬ 
away. Rookie is fully aware of her youth¬ 
ful shortcomings and when he starts 
chasing her in circles he impatiently and 
inelegantly runs right over her several 
times in one lap, leapfrog style. If he 
occasionally doesn’t quite clear her he 
uses his hind legs on Clarice’s face as a 
sort of springboard for additional gains, 
with the result that poor Clarice does a 
cartwheel that any Jap in spangled tights 
would envy. 

CS2] 


ROOKIE 


I really must admit that I cannot credit 
your training (or lack of it) for this par¬ 
ticular indignity to Clarice’s face, because 
if it were not for her little shoe button 
eyes, even a grown-up would be puzzled 
to know whether she was approaching or 
departing at times. 

I have never had much use for very 
small dogs—those in the lapdog class— 
for obvious reasons, one of which is that 
I have no lap and not even a paunch— 
well, practically none—for that style of 
dog to do his parking or have his asthma 
in comfort. However, there are excep¬ 
tions to most rules and little Clarice has 
become one through her extraordinary 
and never-failing good nature under try¬ 
ing and complicated circumstances. Nev- 
[ 53 ] 


ROOKIE 


ertheless, there must be a limit to appease¬ 
ment. So I shall come to her assistance 
and put a curb on Rookie’s exuberance 
before he makes her a jitterpup or has her 
applying for an old age pension prema¬ 
turely. 

Fortunately, the other day during a 
lull in one of these Olympic try-outs I 
caught the young imp at a trick that was 
just a little too practical to come under 
the head of excusable humor. Having put 
my book down to rest my eyes a bit, I 
noticed that Rookie was lying dog-fashion 
with hind legs straight out behind him 
and his head on his fore-paws. He was 
watching something so intently that I fol¬ 
lowed his gaze to a corner of the garage 
where the ground is dirt-packed, and there 
[ 54 ] 


ROOKIE 


was Clarice as busy as a little steam shovel, 
and digging a hole very obviously to bury 
a bone lying beside her. Nothing in that 
to excite particular interest—little dogs 
and big dogs have been burying bones 
since Hector was a pup and there are still 
no union laws against it. 

Well, thinks I, for want of something 
better to do, I’ll help Rookie watch, little 
knowing how different was our point of 
view. Clarice finished her burial service 
with evident satisfaction and with a 
scratch or two of the hind feet and a fem¬ 
inine wiggle where a bustle ought to be, 
she disappeared into the rough. Imme¬ 
diately thereafter Rookie arose, stretched 
himself, gave a fake yawn, looked around 
with honest dishonesty and without more 
[ 55 ] 


ROOKIE 


ado stalked over to the buried bone, dug it 
up, trotted off and buried it behind the 
garage. 

So highjacking had come to Candle 
Isle! Needless to say, I made him dig it 
up and after I had replaced it at the scene 
of the crime I rubbed his nose on the spot 
and gave him a spanking which he ac¬ 
cepted with such nonchalance that I’m 
afraid I’ll be digging up Clarice some 
morning. 

Perhaps, my dear nephew, you think 
I’m laying the brush on a bit thick, but 
stand by. “You ain’t heard nothin’ yet.” 
His crowning achievement was perpe¬ 
trated this very afternoon. Your socially- 
minded aunt insisted that I put on a shirt, 
wipe the charcoal off my nose and help 
[56] 


ROOKIE 


mix the cocktails for a lawn party at 4 
o’clock. Well, I made the grade all right 
except for a little slip. I mixed the cock¬ 
tails, then got the cocktails mixed, with the 
result that I became too playful in dem¬ 
onstrating the highjacking scene between 
Clarice and Rookie. 

I buried Mrs. Hoyt-Smith’s imported 
handbag near Clarice’s bone, then called 
the guests around and told them I could 
make Rookie dig it up and by auto-sug¬ 
gestion make him bury it behind the 
garage. He dug it up very satisfactorily, 
but the auto part of the suggestion back¬ 
fired badly. Instead of burying it behind 
the garage, he made off with it lickety-split 
for the beach half a mile away and for all 
I know that imported bag became an ex- 
[ 57 ] 


ROOKIE 


port. If you ever get the urge to play 
games with ladies’ handbags, pick one 
with a Woolworth expression. Mrs. Hoyt- 
Smith’s cost me $68.00. I’m afraid I’ve 
digressed from the crowning achievement 
I mentioned, so my best apology is to 
make good herewith. 

Earlier in the afternoon I had purpose¬ 
ly turned on the garden hose and left it 
running in a ditch at the edge of the lawn 
for irrigating purposes. Rookie returned 
from the beach, and filled with misplaced 
encouragement over the handbag episode, 
decided to change the 20-foot hose into a 
grand and glorious specimen of Arizona 
desert snake. So grabbing it well up by 
its hood, he trotted briskly up to the as¬ 
sembled guests, shaking the vile reptile 

[58] 



A GRAND AND GLORIOUS SPECIMEN OF ARIZONA DESERT SNAKE 



































































































































































































































ROOKIE 


with terrific abandon and accompanying 
the shakes with growls of victory at sight 
of its life blood being sprayed in un¬ 
ending jets over everybody. As the retreat 
was unanimous nobody thought to step 
on the hose or turn it off. Finally I 
stopped laughing long enough to reach 
the spigot and from that minute the life 
went out of the hose, and the party! 
So-o-o, I’ve lost what little popularity I 
had, especially with the feminine part of 
our colony. Don’t you ever tell your 
aunt, but I gave that hose a wriggle when 
Rookie first approached it. I hate lawn 
parties. 

I’m mindful of what you told me of 
Rookie’s proclivity for running away, 
but as Candle Isle is ten miles from the 
[61] 


ROOKIE 

mainland even his enthusiasm will be suf¬ 
ficiently dampened. And I can see many 
industrious and happy years ahead before 
he will have covered all the nooks and 
crannies in this, his private estate by right 
of prospect, discovery and occasional 
squatting. 

Your unregenerate but affectionate 
Uncle Ed. 


[62] 



THE END OF HIS TALE 



























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